September poem – Aldous Huxley poems | Poetry Monster

A poem by Aldous Huxley (1894 – 1963)

Spring is past and over these many days,

Spring and summer. The leaves of September droop,

Yellowing afid all but dead on the patient trees.

Nor is there any hope in me. I walk

Slowly homeward. Night is as empty and dark

Behind my eyes as it is dark without

And empty round about me and over me.

Spring is past and over these many days;

But, looking up, suddenly I see

Leaves in the upthrown light of a street lamp shine

Clear and luminous, young and so transparent,

They seem but the coloured foam of air, green fire,

No more than the scarce embodied thoughts of leaves;

And it is spring within that circle of light.

Oh, magical brightness ! the old leaves are made new.

In the mind, too, some coloured accident

Of beauty revives and makes all young again.

A chance light meaninglessly shines and it is spring.

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